


The Immortals

by hidingfromsomeone, Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Budding Love, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Future Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Previous Relationships, Minor Character Death, Mutual Masturbation, Off Screen Minor Character Death, Stucky - Freeform, ish, it's set 160 years in the future, people have died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingfromsomeone/pseuds/hidingfromsomeone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek
Summary: In 2180, Steve Rogers makes his way back to Brooklyn, New York; Earth.He's not expecting to run into Bucky when he gets there.(aka, the almost-canon-compliant one where the serum made Steve and Bucky immortal)





	The Immortals

**Author's Note:**

> I firstly have to thank hopeless--geek for her simply gorgeous art and being so generous with her ideas for this story. If you'd like to see more of her work (and you absolutely should) you can find her on tumblr here: www.hopeless--geek.tumblr.com
> 
> A few more thank yous - to the wonderful Cap RBB mods, my beta readers, and the other RBB authors who helped keep me going! 
> 
> This is the first time I've participated in any fandom stuff in years and it's been so much fun. Thanks for letting me be part of it. There are spoilers in the end notes if any of the tags make you wary.

*

 

Steve let himself into the Brooklyn apartment and sighed.

He was exhausted. Interplanetary travel did that to you. He vaguely remembered his first experience of jet-lag; New York to France, 1943. He huffed a laugh to himself at that. 1943. Jesus.

They’d all used the Brooklyn apartment over the years. It was sort of a hub for when they were home, though he was so used to dipping in and out, staying for days or months depending on circumstances, that he didn’t bother to ask the AI if anyone else was in. No one ever had been before.

“Steve fuckin’ Rogers.”

Steve startled, then barked a laugh.

“Looking good, jerk.”

Bucky opened his arms and Steve fell into him, laughing and slapping at Bucky’s back. They pulled away together, both grinning like fools.

“I didn’t know you were home,” Steve said. He dumped his backpack on the floor next to the door and toed off his shoes.

“Yeah. I’ve been here for a while.”

Steve followed him through to the kitchen, which had a cosy, lived-in feel. There was a mug of coffee on the counter and a bunch of daffodils on the table. Daffodils.

“Where have you been?” Bucky asked. “Last I heard you were in Asgard.”

It had been… _wow…_ almost twenty years since he’d seen Bucky last. Once that would have been almost inconceivable. Over the years it had become their new normal.

“Yeah. I’ve been there for a while.”

Bucky ushered Steve into one of the chairs at the dining table and set the coffee maker to brew again. They’d all done their part to keep the apartment in shape, whether that was buying the most recent version of ‘mod cons’, decorating and furnishing the place, or just paying the cleaning service to keep coming in.

Bucky looked good, Steve decided. Especially considering he was 267 years old. Or was it 268? Steve had stopped celebrating birthdays a long time ago. Bucky had let his hair grow out again so it curled under his ears, lapping at the nape of his neck. It suited him like this, always had, and his lean physique added to Steve’s odd pang of nostalgia.

“How about you?” Steve asked.

“I’ve been around.”

Steve laughed. “That’s not gonna fly, I’ve known you for too long for you to get cagy with me now.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and turned his back on the counter, leaning back against it on his elbows.

“I’ve been off-planet. Did some consulting work with the Nova corps, Banner set that up for me through Quill. They speak highly of you out there.”

Steve nodded. “I was with the Guardians for a long time.”

“So I heard. Why did you leave?”

“I wanted a change of pace. You know how it is.”

Bucky stretched his neck, letting his head drop side to side. “I do. You know there’s enough space here if you want to stay. I mean, don’t mind me.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “I think I will.”

Tony had bought the apartment – oh, Tony, it was easier to remember him fondly after all this time – and Steve had always loved how it was in the same neighborhood he and Bucky had grown up in. Not that Brooklyn looked anything like it had when they were kids. Not that New York did. Or the rest of the world.

It had been home for Steve for a decade or so, back in the 2050’s. Nat dropped in from time to time, but had only ever considered it a stopover place. Thor could get in, as could Bruce. And Bucky.

Just the five of them. The immortals.

*

Steve remembered almost everything. That was a lot, packed into one man’s brain, so he had a system of storing memories away. They could be called up again at will, but most of the time he kept things well suppressed.

It was the only way he could keep himself sane, or mission focused, or alive.

In the first few years after he came out of the ice no one paid much attention to his lack of aging. In the first few years, no one noticed. They were too preoccupied with Loki, with Ultron, with Thanos. Steve was too preoccupied with Bucky. Tony. Then Star Lord.

Ten years, maybe fifteen years later, they started to notice. Bucky wasn’t aging. Neither was Steve. Natasha hadn’t changed since the 1950’s. Banner grew wearier, the Hulk didn’t. Steve learned years later that Nat and Bucky had been throwing around theories since the days of the Red Room, they had their suspicions. Steve had taken his own suspicions to Thor.

There were four of them, technically human but unable to die. At that point Steve didn’t want to die, not particularly, so they didn’t bother with experimenting. It wasn’t like Banner, who had attempted suicide in a manner of ways. He talked about it dispassionately most of the time. The way the _other guy_ wasn’t prepared to let him go.

It wasn’t until Steve watched Bucky take a round of machinegun fire to the chest that he believed what they’d been told. He cradled Bucky’s dying body in his arms, sobbing over the mess of gore beneath his hands, and watched in horror and awe as Bucky’s body pushed each bullet to the surface.

They made little pinging noises as they hit the ground beneath them, and Bucky had gasped a breath. He’d spent two weeks laid up at Tony’s place, ostensibly ‘recovering’, even though his body had been done with that even before they made it back to New York.

Time changed things. It had changed Steve; he’d become harder, then more compassionate. He saw the worlds around him and wanted, truly, deeply, to make them better. Sometimes doing that meant shucking off some aspect of himself.

Bucky finished up making two mugs of coffee and handed one to Steve. He took a sip and sighed. This was the real stuff, not some desperate coffee substitute. No matter where he travelled, no one really made coffee right except on Earth.

“Nice arm,” Steve said, nodding at Bucky’s left side. From the bicep down he had a metal skeleton, fully functional, but without any flesh on the bones.

Bucky looked down and rolled his eyes.

“Fucking piece of shit,” he muttered. “Sometimes I wish I’d kept the one Hydra gave me.”

“Really?”

“No. I had the transplant for—what—eighty years? Something like that? Then I got caught with a fucking blaster and it ripped the fucking thing off at the elbow. Go figure.”

“You don’t have much luck with left arms,” Steve said, hiding a smile behind his mug.

“Tell me about it. I’ve got an open appointment to go in and get the meat all re-grown onto it. Keep putting it off, though.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Gotta go into iso for a month,” Bucky muttered. “I hate that. I know I live on my own, but isolation sucks. Hardly anyone sees the fucking thing except me anyway, I figure I can last a while longer without fingerprints.”

“I like it.”

“Fuck off, Rogers.”

“I’m serious,” Steve laughed. “It’s futuristic.”

“That’s because we’re in the future, punk,” Bucky said, joining Steve’s laughter, and something in Steve’s chest eased. They were gonna be okay.

Steve finished his coffee and left the mug in the sink, muttered something to Bucky about unpacking, and went to find an empty room. Bucky waved him off and went back to the tablet on the table he’d likely been working on before Steve came in.

One of the bedroom doors was open, revealing an unmade bed and clothes sprawled lazily over a chair and the floor. Steve smiled to himself and moved on. Bucky had once been neat as a pin; Steve remembered the days when neat duds were Bucky’s pride and joy. He’d done a lot of rebelling after Hydra though, throwing off not only their commands, but all the rules and mannerisms they’d brutalized into him. Apparently being a messy SOB was part of that.

Steve pushed open the door to the second bedroom. It looked a little dated, and the air was still and stale from misuse, but it was fine. He went to the window and pushed it open. It was an odd habit—opening windows—especially when buildings had filtration systems now that meant most windows didn’t open. The air outside was more toxic than the mustiness inside. A second later, Steve shut it again and went to the panel on the wall, programming the filtration system to create an artificial breeze instead.

He’d only brought a backpack for now, with a pair of jeans and a couple T-shirts, clean underpants and socks. If he needed anything else he’d call for it, that only took a few hours to be delivered. A quick scour of the room yielded a handful of paperback novels, more socks—thick black ones, probably belonging to Bruce—a notepad with pages torn out but nothing written on any of the other pages, a thin, gold necklace that must have been Natasha’s, and six hundred credits. Interplanetary currency. It would buy him enough groceries for a month, or a sandwich, depending on where he spent it.

Steve stacked his haul on the desk in the corner then laid down on the bed. He really was tired. His wrist unit told him it was three in the afternoon, Brooklyn time, which as far as he was concerned was perfect timing for a nap.

*

He woke feeling groggy, yet certain of where he was. The pillow was warm under his cheek and the fogginess in his head made him sure he’d slept for hours. The apartment wasn’t exactly quiet. Steve smiled to himself as he thought how Bucky had a knack of making his presence known.

While he was still half-asleep, Steve logged onto his unit and tapped in the command to get a bag of his stuff delivered from one of the transportation facilities nearby. Self-storage was a whole different thing when people kept their stuff in a warehouse the size of a planet floating in space. It would take a few hours to show up. No problem.

He pulled on clean socks and a fresh T-shirt before wandering back through to the kitchen. Bucky was poking something in a pot on the stove. It smelled delicious.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Bucky teased.

“Hey.” Steve was almost surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah. I needed that. What’re you cooking?”

“Just some stew casserole thing. I dunno. I just chucked a bunch of stuff in a pot and let it cook.”

“It smells awesome.”

Bucky threw him a smile over his shoulder. “Another half hour or so, it should be ready.”

“Great.”

Steve went to the fridge, finding plenty of beer and a surprising amount of fresh food. With the land preserves and huge subsidies available to anyone willing to farm, fresh vegetables weren’t as unattainable as scientists had once warned. It was good, Steve thought, that people still wanted to live the good life.

“Can I steal a beer?”

“Go for it. Get me one while you’re there.”

He pulled out two bottles and twisted the tops off, taking a long swig from one as he passed the other to Bucky.

“Is this the stuff we can get drunk on?”

Bucky laughed. “You think I can get that shit here?”

“You could have brought it home with you.”

Bucky smirked. “Maybe I did.”

“Awesome.”

Steve wandered around the apartment, sipping his beer and taking in some of the finer details he’d missed earlier. What he’d taken to be Bucky’s mess was actually a build up of junk that could belong to anyone. The bookshelf was stuffed with honest-to-God paperback novels, a few reference books, and a stack of tablets that probably all needed charging and software updates. He made a mental note to do that later.

There was a painting on the wall of New York as he remembered it, early 20th century, and that definitely wasn’t here the last time he’d visited. The couch looked new, as was the blanket thrown over the back of it. And when Steve opened the large black case in the corner of the room it was full of delicate tools that had to belong to Bruce.

“You okay?” Bucky said, leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen.

“Yeah. I’m just curious. I guess I never really stopped to look around before. I kinda use this place as a stopover, one or two nights, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “I know Nat and Bruce lived here together for a while.”

“And you?”

“I come back.”

“It’s weird. That I’ve never ran into any of you before, you know?”

“The galaxy is a pretty big place, Rogers.”

“True.”

And it had been a long time. Neither of them said that aloud, though. It felt like too much; acknowledging the time and space that had passed since Steve had spent any real quality time with Bucky. That was life, though, they lived out their own stories. Sometimes paths crossed… sometimes it took decades for that to happen.

Bucky went back into the kitchen and ladled two steaming bowls of the stew and sliced what looked like freshly baked bread. They didn’t stand on ceremony, never had, and Steve took a seat on the couch when Bucky passed him a bowl.

“This is amazing. Thank you.”

“Any time. I’ll let you wash the dishes.”

Steve laughed. Like the old days.

They settled in to eat, content with the silence. Some things really didn’t change.

“Are you dating anyone?” Bucky asked, mopping at the sides of his bowl with the bread.

Steve made a face. “Not since Thor.”

“Not since _Thor?!_ ”

“Yeah.”

“Since when were you dating Thor?”

Steve ducked his head, hiding the blush that he’d never been able to get rid of. “Bucky.”

“No, I’m serious, you fuckin’ punk. You were dating a god. A _man_ god. And I didn’t know anything about it?”

“We were discreet.”

“For how long?”

“Forty years, on and off.”

“Forty fuckin’ _years?_ ”

Steve laughed then. It was ridiculous. Forty years was a lifetime. More than most people got to spend with their loved ones. ‘On and off’ was accurate, though. Steve hadn’t been in Asgard that long, neither had Thor. It had started as a casual thing, just when they were together, then bloomed into something more. Like most relationships, it came to a natural conclusion. This time there were no hard feelings. Steve was deeply reassured by that. Thor was one of a very small group of people who could guide Steve through this eternity. The last thing Steve wanted was for it to be awkward between them.

“He was good for me,” Steve said, setting his empty bowl on the low table in front of the couch. It wasn’t an answer. Bucky didn’t buy it.

“When did you break up?”

“A few years back. I did some political stuff, catching up with old contacts, then came back here. I was going to look for you next, actually.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how you went from being one of the most awkward dancers in the whole goddamn city to being a guy who dated _Thor_ for forty years.”

“I’m still awkward,” Steve admitted. “It took me forever to figure out he was interested. You know how Thor is. He can come over a little intense. I thought he was just being, you know, Asgardian.”

Bucky laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There were other things going on.”

_Natasha._

Neither of them needed to say her name. Bucky figured it out quickly, nodded once, then moved on.

“Anyone else I should know about?”

“Not really. It got awkward after a while. All the people I was dating kept growing old. I decided I should probably find someone who wasn’t going to die on me so quickly.”

They were used to this kind of morbid humor. It kept them going.

“That’s a pretty small pool.”

“Yeah, well, you and Nat were together, so that left Banner and Thor. I’m pretty sure Banner has got some girl hidden on a planet at the edge of the galaxy, so…”

“I wasn’t with Nat.”

“Bullshit,” Steve snorted.

“Not since the sixties. The first round of sixties. Fuck, the nineteen sixties.”

“Seriously?”

“After Clint, she didn’t want anyone else.” Bucky shrugged it off. “Not like that, anyway. She wanted the company, though. I liked her, a lot, and I could handle being her platonic partner.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s the way she wanted it. If people thought we were together they left her alone.”

“She was alone, all those years?”

“She wanted it that way, Steve. You know what she was like. If Nat had wanted something—anything—she would have gone and got it.”

Steve nodded, his throat thick with the sudden longing of missing her. Natasha had separated herself from Steve, Bruce and Thor years back… too many years to count. The world hadn’t been kind to her. Immortality became an albatross around her neck—more curse than blessing.

They’d all spent time together, time apart, time in pairs or threes, depending on the imminent danger level in the galaxy. Nat always went her own way when things started to look stable again, though. She had her hidey-holes, on planet and off, and Steve always tried to respect her need for space.

“It must have been hard for you.”

But Bucky was already shaking his head before Steve finished his thought. “The one thing I loved more than anything else about that girl was how certain she was in her decisions. She never regretted anything. When she decided to go, it was on her terms. I can’t resent her for that.”

There hadn’t been a funeral. Or even any formal notice that she was gone. Steve had asked Heimdall one day and she’d just disappeared. A blank space now occupied where Natasha and all her vibrancy had once been.

“You knew?”

Bucky shrugged. “I had an idea. She was so ready to let go. We said goodbye, hell, maybe eighty, ninety years ago.”

They hadn’t spoken like this in a long time. Maybe it was the hazy fog from the beer, or the warm night, or the fact that they were back in Brooklyn, just the two of them together. A weird sort of melancholy settled onto Steve’s shoulders, like a familiar blanket that he knew just how to tuck around himself.

“Hey,” Bucky said, like he could sense Steve’s mood. He gently bumped his shoulder against Steve’s. “Don’t be sad. I can guarantee you she’s not, wherever she is.”

“I thought I would get used to it.” Steve shivered. “That sounds so morbid. For a while everyone died, you know? Then for a long time no one did.”

Because he didn’t let himself get close enough to anyone to care about their passing. Because he refocused his mind, became an important political figure, a symbol of strength and life and rebirth not just on Earth, but across the galaxy. Because Bucky was alive and so was he, and a few other people he cared deeply for, so he could easily shut his heart off and nod sadly at others’ passing when in reality, he didn’t feel much at all.

“I think she left us instructions.”

“What?” Steve demanded.

“On how to do it. End it.” He pointedly didn’t say ‘kill ourselves’. Steve understood. “She was on that mission for so long, piecing together bits of information. Even before we said goodbye to each other. I knew that was what she wanted.”

“And it still took her a hundred years to figure it out.”

“Yeah. She won’t have made it easy for us. But I reckon, if we ever want that, she’ll have left us instructions.”

“Somewhere.”

Bucky nodded.

For a moment, Steve let his mind drift. He didn’t want to die, not right now, but one day he might. If Bucky was right Natasha wouldn’t have made it easy for them. She would want to know that they really wanted it, not just some passing whim.

It was a morbid thought. Somewhere out in the galaxy was a treasure hunt, left by his once immortal, now dead friend. With instructions on how to die.

“Geez, that’s why we shouldn’t drink so much,” Bucky said with a laugh. “It turns us into sentimental old men.”

Steve laughed too, even though he didn’t really feel like it. “You’re the one who had the good liquor. Don’t blame me.”

He was saved by the AI, announcing a delivery. Steve almost stumbled as he made his way to the door.

“Steven Grant Rogers, Captain.”

The droid was boxy and white, smudged with dirt.

“That’s me.”

He pressed his palm to the scanner and waited for the droid to beep.

“Accepted.”

The droid rolled forward and Steve lead it to his room. He had half a dozen boxes of the important stuff that got packed up and safely stored in between Steve finding his next place to lay his head. There were a few more boxes of the really important stuff stored in a specially conditioned facility that meant they wouldn’t age or deteriorate. An original picture of his mother was in one, along with his dog tags from the first war. A vibranium shield that was part of a myth Steve had tried to leave behind.

Bucky used to say he was a sentimental bastard. Bucky was right.

Steve stacked the boxes and went to let the droid out. It had already gone, though, and the AI had shut and locked the door behind it.

“That your stuff?” Bucky asked as Steve flopped back onto the sofa. Despite there being plenty of seating in the room, they’d chosen to share the long sofa. Steve didn’t even think that through.

“Yep,” he said, reaching for his beer again. “I’ll look through it later, I don’t have the energy for it tonight.”

“You slept for hours this afternoon!”

“My body doesn’t even know what quadrant I’m in, let alone what time zone. Give me a break.”

Bucky laughed. Steve watched as he scrubbed his metal hand through his hair, then scratched his belly.

“That thing give you any gip?” Steve nodded at the arm.

“This? Nah. I do most of the maintenance on it myself these days. There’s a guy on Knowhere that can fix up anything I can’t do myself.”

“Why am I not surprised you hang out on Knowhere?” Steve said, shaking his head.

“Hey, I am a respected citizen of the galaxy,” Bucky said. He emptied his beer, tipping his head back to drain it, then set the bottle on the coffee table. “Sometimes I need to see a guy about some business. Knowhere is a good place to do that.”

“I won’t ask.”

Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve. The intensity in his eyes was unnerving.

“They talk about you, Steve.”

“They do? Who does?”

“Wherever I go,” Bucky said, shaking his head a little, “Once folks know my name, they ask me about you. I can’t even tell you how many free drinks I’ve had pushed my way once someone calls me Barnes. Just because I’m your friend.”

“You’re welcome?”

Bucky punched his arm.

“And I’ve dined out on the story of how you saved my life more times than I can count.” His face grew sober. “You change worlds, Steve. It used to be neighborhood bar scraps, a hundred yards from here. Now you change people’s lives in places we could never dream of.”

“Not just me.”

“No… Thor goes in with his unit and he does his grand sweeping… ending tyranny, freeing slaves, bringing peace. Except that last bit isn’t Thor, it’s _you._ ”

Steve smiled, pleased and embarrassed in equal measures. “I do what I can.”

“Jesus wept, Steve. Out there, you’re as famous as Thor. Not as the hero who slayed the monster, but the guy who stuck around for cleanup. Helped rebuild societies. They hear my name and they say oh, you know Rogers. And I get to say yeah, he’s my best friend.”

“Your best friend,” Steve echoed.

Bucky’s eyes were too blue. Too close.

“My…”

Steve huffed a laugh and slumped back into the couch. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s why I’m back here. Sometimes it’s good to be the asshole kid who couldn’t walk away from a fight, you know? It’s good to be Steve.”

“Well, Steve, I’m done.” Bucky stretched, his flesh and metal hands clenching the air in unison. “You get to make breakfast in the morning.”

“I can do that,” Steve said.

Bucky made no move to clear up the living room, so Steve did that before he went to bed. Some habits died hard. There was a garbage disposal chute and another for recycling; he made sure the beer bottles went in the right one, then turned off all the lights and used the panel on the wall to set the nighttime security. Maybe the AI did that automatically, Steve wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to it tonight.

The bedroom window had been shut when he set the security, now there was a faint glow on the outside that told Steve the shields were activated. He pulled the curtains tight across the window to block out the glow.

Outside the streets were quiet. There was a planet-wide curfew in place at the moment, he’d picked that much up from the interplanetary news stream he’d caught before leaving Xandar. As far as he knew, it was a protection thing rather than a punishment thing. There were no wars on Earth any more. After all, the best way to unite a people is to give them a common enemy. There seemed little point in in-fighting when there were aliens on your doorstep.

In his backpack, Steve found a toothbrush and a tiny tube of his preferred toothpaste. It was hell to get hold of, only a few places outside of Earth had any in stock, though through his regular visits a few traders kept some back for him. Being Captain Rogers had its benefits, sometimes.

He brushed his teeth quickly in the shared bathroom, then changed into a clean T-shirt and boxers before returning to bed.

“Lights off,” he murmured.

The room fell into darkness.

*

Steve woke after a deep and restful sleep – something he hadn’t experienced in far too long. He stretched in the warmed sheets, relishing in the pull of his muscles and how his jaw cracked when he yawned.

It was barely light outside when he dragged himself out of bed to use the bathroom. Early enough that the streets would be quiet… perfect for a good run.

He quickly changed into a pair of shorts and a long sleeved T-shirt, the running shoes in the bottom of his backpack one of the few things he could be counted on to carry with him from one place to the next.

Bucky’s bedroom door was firmly shut when he passed. Steve made sure to set thumbprint access back into the apartment for when he finished the run, just in case Bucky wasn’t awake. Bucky always had been a grouch in the mornings.

A light orange haze covered most of Brooklyn, clinging to the tops of the buildings. Pollution here had gotten consistently worse as the years passed. Sure, there were still areas way out in the country where clear air and blue skies prevailed. But the Earth’s atmosphere had been irreparably damaged. This was the new normal.

Steve stretched as he stood on the stoop, watching the world go by for a moment, then pushed his sunglasses onto his nose and turned onto Prospect, which would hopefully take him to the park, if it was still there.

Though there were a few pods and trams around, Steve didn’t pass one other person on his route around the city. It was a ghost town. At first it was unnerving; this part of Vinegar Hill had once bustled at almost all hours of the day and night. Then he reminded himself that things had changed, New York had changed, and maybe this was how things worked, now.

The towers of Brooklyn Bridge loomed in the distance; they too looked slightly blurred from the pollution. The thing about New York—and London, and Paris, and the other _old_ cities that had always struck Steve was the blending of old and new. People tore down the old and the damaged and the ugly and built what was needed. But the strong and beautiful and important parts of history remained. Always.

Steve catalogued as he ran, making mental notes of the changes that had taken place since he was last here. There were more than he’d hoped, less than he’d been expecting.

It was only when he looped back onto Flushing Avenue that he noticed the burning in his lungs, stronger than a normal workout. His throat constricted and he stumbled, suddenly short of air in his lungs and blood in his head. He hadn’t felt like this in almost two hundred and fifty years.

_Asthma._

But it couldn’t be, that had been cured with the serum, his lungs were fine now. He still couldn’t pull enough of a breath, though, and his fingertips started to tingle as his extremities were deprived of oxygen.

Steve stumbled back up the steps to the apartment and managed to get his thumb on the scanner before he felt through the door into the empty foyer.

“Steve?” Bucky yelled.

Steve braced his hands on his knees and gulped for breath, his eyes streaming.

“Steve.”

He was dimly aware of the sound of Bucky thundering down the stairs, then Bucky was shaking his shoulders.

“You went _outside_? You absolute fucking lunatic.”

“Can’t…” Steve gasped. “Breathe.”

“Of course you can’t fucking breathe, there was a chem attack a couple of days ago, it’s not safe to be outside for more than a few minutes. That’s why there’s a fucking curfew in place.”

“Oh.”

His chest was still constricting, the pain increasing, and Steve didn’t know how to tell Bucky any of this since getting words out was agonizing.

“Come on,” Bucky said. He looked over Steve for a half-second, then got his shoulder under Steve’s sternum and hauled him into a fireman’s lift to get him upstairs and into the apartment.

Steve would have protested, if he had the energy.

He was dumped on the couch without ceremony and Bucky disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later he was back with a tall glass of cloudy liquid.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

Steve was still gasping for breath, his head spinning, but he found the strength to prop himself up on one elbow and sipped at the chalky medicine. It helped his throat. Not his lungs. Not yet.

Once he’d finished the glass, Bucky disappeared again. This time when he came back he held a soft washcloth. Steve didn’t even have the energy to protest as Bucky wiped off his face and eyes, his nose and mouth, then dug it into his ears.

“I can’t believe you went outside,” Bucky grumbled. “Do you want an oxygen tank.”

“Fuck off,” Steve wheezed.

“I will get that mask, so help me God.”

Steve very carefully gave him a middle finger salute.

“I hate you so much, Rogers.”

That was okay. Steve waited for the pain to pass—it always did—and in time his lungs started to unclench, his throat stopped burning, and he was left with an overwhelming urge to throw up.

“Gonna puke.”

“I know, buddy, there’s a bucket next to you.”

Steve prized one eye open and sure enough, there was a black bucket ready for him to empty his guts into. That felt a little undignified though and he thought here was probably enough strength in him now to get to the bathroom and puke like a man.

“Christ alive, Rogers,” Bucky muttered. But he followed Steve and hovered in the doorway until Steve was done throwing up acid bile.

“Better?” he asked when Steve flushed the toilet.

“Yeah.”

He brushed his teeth, Bucky still leaning against the doorframe watching, then swilled his mouth out with minty fresh mouthwash.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Bucky said when Steve was done.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Take a shower,” Bucky said, turning away. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

Steve thought better of arguing. He stripped off his shirt and shorts and climbed into the shower, only aware when he started washing himself down that the hairs on his arms were singed.

It must have been one hell of a chem attack. Maybe the Brooklyn horizon wasn’t supposed to be orange after all.

He dressed in sweats and a clean T-shirt and put his running gear in the washer in case there was anything lingering in the fabric.

In the kitchen, a plate of eggs and toast was waiting for him on the table. Bucky was still scrambling his own, and when Steve sat down Bucky quickly plated his own food and took the seat opposite him.

“You were supposed to be the one making breakfast,” Bucky grouched.

“I’m sorry. What happened?” Steve asked before he took a bite of the eggs.

“We don’t know,” Bucky said. He’d made tea—not coffee—because it was better for Steve’s throat. Steve didn’t need to ask to be sure of that. “It’s not any recognized chemical compound, so it was definitely off planet, but no one’s taking responsibility for it at the moment. The city is pretty much on lockdown. A few other places were targeted too; looks like major financial hubs rather than political.”

Steve nodded and worked methodically through his breakfast. Bucky had burned the eggs a little, not that Steve minded. He always did like them well done.

“Did you not wonder why no one else is outside?” Bucky asked. He was barely touching his own food.

“I’m used to things being different. Please eat something, Buck.”

Bucky snorted and started shoveling food into his mouth. That was more like it.

“I thought that was why you were back,” Bucky said with his mouth full. “Because you were investigating.”

“No,” Steve said. “Though I will, since I’m here.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grunted. “Leave it. You’ll probably just piss off the locals. I learned that the hard way already. You should probably tell them you’re here, though.”

“I was going to check in this morning.”

“Do that,” Bucky agreed. “They’re twitchy about us at the best of times. Apparently I attract trouble.”

Steve managed a hoarse laugh at that. “You always did.”

“Laugh it up, big guy. As I recall, that was your specialty.”

Steve pushed the now-empty plate away and reached for his tea. It hadn’t taken long, less than half an hour for his body to repair the damage from the chem. He guessed others hadn’t been quite so fortunate.

“Are there pods in this building? In case we do need to get out.”

Bucky nodded. “There’s a whole bunch of them on roof level. I can order one in too, if we run out or if we need to travel together. All the ones kept for residents are singles.”

“Okay. Good. I really am sorry, Buck. I didn’t realize.”

“I’m surprised the AI didn’t warn you.”

Steve pulled a face. “I think I might have disabled it.”

Bucky slapped his palm to his forehead. “I really don’t know what to do with you.”

*

Steve had never been good when he was bored, and being stuck in the apartment was definitely boring. Bucky wouldn’t let him do _anything_ until he was sure Steve wasn’t suffering from any aftereffects from the chem. Within a few hours Steve was starting to go stir-crazy.

He ended up tidying his room and unpacking, which was definitely not his original plan, but things had changed. When the room looked somewhat presentable he sat down at his laptop and set up a bunch of holo meetings with different political figures. Steve had met the president of Americanada a few times before so diplomatically speaking, she was a good place to start.

President Fielding was a pleasant, softly spoken woman who Steve guessed to be in her early forties. She was part of one of the modern religions that suggested people shouldn’t cut their hair, so hers was braided on top of her head in intricate twists. It was pointless to try and guess at a person’s heritage any more; he wasn’t around much, and interracial relationships had produced a true melting pot culture. But he thought she might be Polynesian.

Steve stood straight as he exchanged friendly conversation, easy at military rest.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Steve said. He tugged at the hem of his tailored navy jacket, what he wore as sort of a uniform.

“I’m always happy to make time for you, Captain. Are you well accommodated?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m staying at my quarters in New York, with a friend.”

She gave him a bemused little smile. “I’d appreciate if you’d let me know when you leave. Though you are, of course, welcome to explore your city.”

She knew he’d been out, then. Probably knew about the results. He wondered what the story was there, but it really wasn’t his place to intervene.

“Please feel free to call on me for anything.”

“We will. Good day, Captain.”

He nodded and let the AI sign him off.

It was the first meeting of about a dozen, making sure his presence was known to the relevant military and political communities. Steve made a point of letting them know this was a social visit, he wanted to spend some time at home, and that he had no intention of taking up any official responsibilities while he was here. They seemed to appreciate that.

A note appeared under his door while he was offering yet more compliments and pleasantries to one of the last remaining royal families, but he studiously ignored it until the conversation was over.

_Lunch is ready when you’re done licking ass._

Steve snorted and powered down the holo program. He considered going out to greet Bucky while still wearing his ‘uniform’, then thought better of it. Bucky didn’t need any ammunition to make fun of him.

“Getting real sick of cooking and cleaning for you.”

“Sorry,” Steve said easily. Lunch was a bowl of noodles, light and fresh, with a bunch of ingredients Steve didn’t recognize but thoroughly enjoyed.

“How were the most important people in the world this fine morning?”

“Seemed happy enough to talk to me.”

“You know there’s only about five people in the universe they’d all drop plans to shoot the shit with.”

Steve shrugged. “I guess. I don’t mind if they’re busy, it’s not like I make a big deal of it.”

Bucky laughed and slurped at the last of his noodles.

“Those are some snazzy specs you got there, Rogers.”

Steve pulled the glasses from his face and grinned. “Try them.”

Bucky slid the thick, dark frames onto his face and frowned. “They’re just glass. You wearing them for style or something?”

“Tap the side.”

Bucky did as he was told, then recoiled. “Holy shit. That’s some trick.”

The glasses could be used for a bunch of different purposes. He mostly used them to lay building blueprints over whatever he was seeing. They worked as a travel guide too, letting him know important cultural norms about the different planets he found himself on, and rolling text gave him a syllable-by-syllable pronunciation guide that helped him at least get through pleasantries before a translator stepped in to help him.

Most people, like Bucky, considered the glasses some kind of fashion accessory. Some knew what they were for, and most didn’t mind him using them. It wasn’t as though they could see through clothing, or whatever stupid suggestion had been made to him most recently. It was purely for information.

And because he liked the way his face looked when he wore them.

Steve went back to his room after lunch, wanting to catch up on messages that had been left for him across various mediums. Bucky had holed up in the family room with one of the paperback novels and a sweatshirt that looked too big for him. He looked peaceful.

They both ordered dinner to be delivered by droid, and ate separately at different points in the evening. Steve got the impression Bucky wasn’t used to sharing the apartment with someone else, so he was trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. At least until Bucky invited him to keep him company.

Their odd little rhythm continued for a few more days, spending the mornings together and afternoons and evenings doing their own thing. Steve got increasingly claustrophobic and called for a mini-quinjet to take him over the city. The curfew had been lifted over parts of Manhattan; the parts were enormous, floating jets that looked like vacuum cleaners hovered just over the top of the buildings, sucking the chem away. The vacuum jets would get to Brooklyn eventually. Manhattan was apparently the priority.

Steve turned the mini-jet around. He didn’t feel much of anything at all out here.

Before heading home he plugged in the coordinates for the storage facility just outside the city. He sent things back and forth from the unit on a fairly regular basis, but it had been years since he’d visited in person.

There was a landing pad for the mini-jet, unmanned, but working just fine. Steve locked it just in case, then ducked into the building.

The whole place seemed to be unmanned, which wasn’t that unusual, but Steve always found it a little unnerving. He pressed his palm to the ID plate and followed the flashing lights on the floor that led him to his personal unit. He was grateful for the directions – there was no way he’d have figured out the way on his own.

The unit was spotlessly tidy. It had to be, for the droids to be able to find anything. All his possessions were neatly labeled and kept in particular spots. The shield was kept in a hard shell case hung on the wall. He had no desire to take it out and look at it. But he did look at the case for a moment longer than necessary.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and activated the glasses as he scanned the room. Little labels popped up in his field of vision, glowing faintly blue until his eyes focused on them.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, not really. This unit represented most of his life; the things he couldn’t leave behind. He’d gotten un-sentimental as he’d aged, much more willing to let things go. The man who’d grown up in Depression-era New York had learned a lot of lessons about the futility of sentimentality, and how to disconnect memories from things.

Because he could, Steve opened the box of old photographs, the ones of he and Bucky from before the war. Of his parents on their wedding day, that someone had found and donated to a museum, who had eventually given it back to him. Pictures of Peggy.

He flicked through the protective sheaths, unable to touch the photographs themselves any more. Even taking them out of the sheaths would mean they’d likely crumble.

Because he could, Steve put a few things in a backpack before he left. They were his things, after all. He was allowed.

Bucky was napping when Steve got back to the apartment, so he got started on making dinner. He’d never been much of a cook, but Bucky had never complained.

The sun was starting to set when Bucky finally emerged, sleep-rumpled and bed-headed.

“Hey.”

Bucky yawned loudly and scratched his belly. “Something smells good.”

“It’s ready when you are.”

Steve smiled, endeared, as Bucky made himself a glass of water and chugged it. “Uh oh,” he murmured as he refilled the glass. “You started drinking already?”

“Eh. I was thirsty.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll plate up.”

“You do that.”

It was simple, a baked fish with potatoes and salad, but it tasted pretty good. Steve had a few bottles of Asgardian mead left. It was enough to start them on the road to getting drunk; the bottle of liquor that Bucky produced for ‘dessert’ pushed them further down that path.

“Tell me about Asgard,” Bucky said. He was sprawled on the sofa, his feet dangling off the edge. Steve sat on the floor, his head tipped back against the cushion. He resisted the temptation to swat at Bucky’s bare foot every time it swung his way. “I never really went there. Is it true they all just fuck each other all the time?”

Steve barked a laugh. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know.” Bucky waved his hand airily. “Around.”

“Society is different there,” Steve said, shaking his head slowly. “Relationships are different. When Thor talks about his ‘brothers in arms’…”

“He means the bunch of guys he’s fucking?”

“No!” Steve laughed. “Well, yes, but—“

“I knew it.”

“People develop different types of relationships,” Steve said, persevering through the instinct to retreat when someone wanted to talk about sex. “There’s not just one monogamous significant other that people commit to forever. Some people still do choose that, but most of the time they have other partners too.”

“Well, I never would have thought little Stevie Rogers from Brooklyn, New York would grow up to be such a sexual deviant.”

His accent came out like this, thick like the old days, and no one apart from the two of them spoke like it any more. New Yorkers were still New Yorkers, some things never changed, and apparently Bucky Barnes’s accent was one of those things.

“I think a lot of people had me pegged as a deviant back in those days, Buck. You’re remembering things wrong.”

“You knew you liked fellas too? All the way back when?”

“Hell, no,” Steve laughed. “I got the snot beat out of me regular enough without giving them extra ammunition. I had enough trouble tryin’ to get girls to notice me, let alone fellas.”

It was almost like playing a game. Bucky tossed something out in a forgotten language and Steve caught it, solid in the palm of his hand, and tossed it right back. Easy as pie. Words no one used any more, _dames_ and _queers_ and _negroes_ , words that had lost the meaning and power they once had.  

They left the curtains open so the wide windows exposed a dark sky with a wide, heavy moon hanging low in the sky. No need for screens tonight, external entertainment from local TV or the widenet. The apartment was dark, since it was after curfew for light pollution, but Steve didn’t need much to see by.

“You ever been with an alien girl?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not answering that. I plead the fifth.”

Bucky laughed brightly. It was another reference that no one else alive would likely get, except the history nuts. The US Constitution was a relic these days.

“I did, once.”

“Why does this suddenly feel like 1939 all over again, with you telling me about your dance hall conquests?”

“Don’t be such a prude. You can have orgies with piles of sweaty Asgardian warriors but won’t trade tales about a little alien tail?”

“Did she have a _tail_?”

Bucky almost fell of the couch, he was laughing so hard.

“No,” he managed around gasps for breath. “Humanoid.”

“Thank God for that,” Steve muttered, knowing he was blushing hard.

“We were together, for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you get it? Out there? When you tell them where you’re from and they look at you like you’re the most exotic, weird creature…”

“Sometimes,” Steve admitted.

“Yeah. I liked her a lot. Took me weeks to learn how to say her name properly, but we kind of fit. We understood each other.”

“What happened?”

“She died,” Bucky said simply. “Her species are fully grown within a few years, they’ve got a total life span of about fifteen, maybe twenty if they’re lucky.”

“Meloians?”

“Yeah. You know them? I spent about four years with her.” He smiled fondly. “It was good.”

“That seems almost cruel. I got so much time with Thor and only four years…”

“I showed her a good time,” Bucky said with a familiar grin. “We had fun. Still miss her sometimes, though.”

Steve nodded. What could he say? He had a feeling Bucky didn’t fall for girls very often. Sure, he had a reputation for dating and charming the pants off any female who dared to get too close, but that was part of the outer shell of Bucky Barnes. A little poke under the surface and a quiet, introspective man emerged.

“Anyway,” Bucky said, standing sharply. “I don’t wanna get maudlin. Beer?”

“Sure.”

The beer was good. Steve had gotten used to Asgardian mead, which was strong stuff that he didn’t particularly like but drank anyway. He’d never been big into drinking; when he was small they couldn’t afford it, and when he was bigger it didn’t have any effect on him.

Steve wasn’t sure where Bucky had gotten this particular stash but he liked it a lot. Too much, maybe. They slipped into conversations about mutual acquaintances—gossip, though neither of them would call it that—and when Steve got up to piss he realized he was drunk. Well and truly.

“So, your naked sweaty warrior thing,” Bucky said when Steve walked back into the family room. “I wanna do it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I wanna do it,” Bucky repeated. “What? I was your brother-in-arms before all the rest of them, right?”

“You know that it’s… sex?”

Bucky broke into delighted laughter. “Sure. Come on, tell me.”

“It’s about bonding.” Steve knew he was blushing. “About connections. Intimacy.”

“Right.”

“They—the Asgardians—believe that the male essence comes from semen,” Steve said. “Which kinda makes sense, you know. So men sharing their own essence with other men tightens the bonds of brotherhood. It’s not about putting anything inside…”

“Go on,” Bucky said.

“It’s about getting it out,” Steve said. His voice was coming low and rough. “Their essence. It’s jerking each other off I suppose, if you want to put it in the crudest terms. Then when someone blows his load, they all rub it on themselves.”

“Holy shit.”

“On their muscles,” Steve clarified. “To make them stronger.”

“And the women? Thor has women in his unit, I’ve seen them.”

“I don’t know what they do. I guess they have their own rituals."

“Wow.” Bucky’s face was flushed, and Steve was pretty sure he didn’t know how much he’d been gnawing on his bottom lip. It was all red and puffy and spit-shiny. “Sounds hot.”

Steve chuckled. “It’s good for team bonding, that’s for sure.”

“And you did all that with Thor?”

“Well, yeah. And other stuff.”

“I wanna do it.”

So did Steve, at this point. “It’s not usually a thing you do when you’re drunk.”

“Drunk? Who’s drunk?” Bucky was definitely at least half-way drunk. “Totally sober.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on, Stevie,” he wheedled. “I want to know.”

Steve shook his head. He’d never been good at saying no to Bucky.

“Okay. I think I have some tea with me.”

“Tea?” Bucky asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. It’s how you start it all. Don’t question me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you.” Bucky pouted.

“Go get comfortable somewhere. Don’t take your clothes off though.”

There was a quiet smirk in Bucky’s expression, but he did as he was told. Steve waited until he locked the bathroom door, then ducked into his own room. He’d been through the boxes recently enough, he knew where the little fold of paper had been carefully stashed. Like it was something illegal. It wasn’t. He didn’t think.

It was just _tea._

But then again, plants and fungi did get a bad reputation when they had alternative affects.

Anyway.

He ran the tap for boiling water and filled a pot, pleased that they still had one. Natasha had always liked to make her tea in a pot. Steve let himself have a moment of fondness for her, then set about finding two espresso cups. They wouldn’t need any more than a few sips each.

There weren’t any damned espresso cups, and Steve cursed up a storm under his breath before settling on making one cup to share. That was fine. It was how things were done in Asgard, usually, passing a cup around the group. But he’d wanted to give Bucky a little space…

He forced himself to take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Very carefully, he packed away what was left of the tea, pouring what wasn’t in the cup down the drain to make sure neither of them took an accidental overdose of it later.

As the apartment was laid out, Steve would pass his own room before he got to Bucky’s. He wasn’t too surprised to see Bucky sprawled on Steve’s own bed. Bucky had been quite protective of his personal space for a while, and he clearly wasn’t ready to do this in his bedroom.

Bucky had stripped out of his socks and overshirt, leaving him in unbuttoned jeans and a soft, loose T-shirt. He grinned easily as Steve closed the door behind himself. Steve tried hard not to stare—not at Bucky’s muscles or his mouth or the soft tufts of hair under his arms.

_Jesus._

“Here,” Steve said—tried to say. He cleared his throat. “Here. Take a sip. Just a little sip.”

Bucky reached for the cup and did as he was told, wincing at the taste.

“That is…not pleasant.”

Steve shrugged. “You get used to it.”

He took his own sip, then another, then passed it back to Bucky. “Just a little,” he warned.

“What does this stuff do?” Bucky asked. He warmed his one hand on the porcelain.

“It’s the start of it.”

“O-kay.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Once more.” Steve waited for Bucky to drink again, then he did, then he set the cup aside. “Roll onto your front for me. You can take your shirt off.”

“This seems counter-productive to getting my dick out.”

“Shut up and do as you’re told,” Steve said with a laugh.

While Bucky got himself situated Steve stripped his shirt off and reached for the bottle of oil by his bed. It wasn’t anything special, as far as he was aware, but it was another gift from Thor. Steve had always been fond of it, preferring it for sex. The oil had a natural, earthy, slightly grassy smell. Like the forest after a summer storm.

He carefully warmed it between his palms, then reached over and spread the oil down Bucky’s back.

Bucky made some kind of low grunt in the back of his throat.

“Before you say anything… don’t,” Steve said. “Just go with it.”

He set about liberally covering Bucky in oil. It would get everywhere, and he’d have to change the sheets in the morning. It was worth it though, to see Bucky’s muscles all defined and gently glistening in the low light.

“Flip over,” Steve said.

Bucky’s cock was tenting his pants, hard enough to remind Steve what they were there for.

“You want me to return the favor?”

“Not yet.”

Steve needed to work the oil into Bucky’s chest first, slicking up the dark hairs across his pecs, then down the one flesh arm until Bucky all but glowed.

“I need out of these things,” Bucky muttered, kicking out of his jeans, and, after a moment’s hesitation, his tight boxer-briefs.

Steve caught himself staring, and quickly averted his eyes back to Bucky’s face. He knew he was likely blushing.

“Let me do you,” Bucky said, reaching out for the oil. He caught the double entendre and blushed too.

Steve rolled onto his stomach and settled his hips carefully, gingerly, aware of his erection, and pillowed his head on his arms. He startled when Bucky’s warm, slick hand worked over the back of his neck and down his spine.

Bucky worked carefully, spreading the oil over Steve’s skin with one hand only. Steve didn’t want to question why Bucky didn’t want to get his tech arm in on the action–maybe he was worried about the oil and the mechanics, or maybe he thought Steve wouldn’t want to be touched with it. Steve didn’t mind, but he wasn’t about to question it.

Steve kicked off his own pants and underwear when Bucky nudged him onto his back. Bucky’s eyes were wide and his skin was flushed. Dark hair, pale skin, rosy pink blush spreading over his neck and chest.

Bucky reached up with softly oiled fingers and touched Steve’s jaw, just lightly. And drew Steve into a kiss.

That wasn’t—

He hadn’t—

_Oh shit_

And Steve couldn’t think, couldn’t protest, couldn’t tell Bucky that this wasn’t part of the thing, it wasn’t what they did, he hadn’t ever _kissed_ any of his warrior brothers before because that was for lovers, for partners—

Because he wanted it too.

He wanted the soft scrape of Bucky’s stubble of his cheeks, wanted the way their lips caught and Bucky’s breath in his mouth and the gentle, spine-tingling touch of his tongue.

Steve knew it wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t exactly right either, and he pushed those thoughts away as he rocked his erection against Bucky’s thigh and kissed him harder and more, and more.

“Can I touch you?”

Steve’s eyes were screwed tightly shut so he only heard the words, and felt Bucky’s lips moving against his skin. He wasn’t sure his voice worked, and the answer should have been ‘no’. It should have been. That wasn’t how it worked, not how it was supposed to—

Steve threw the rule book out the window and nodded.

Bucky reached down between them, to where Steve was a hair’s breadth away from rutting against Bucky’s thigh like a horny teenager. He opened his eyes enough to watch Bucky give his own cock a squeeze, then dragged his oil-slick hand over Steve’s cock, from the base to where he was leaking at the tip.

He didn’t want Bucky to be missing out on this so he grabbed Bucky’s cock. Fingers curling at the base, the head of Bucky’s cock leaving a sticky trail on his wrist.

Forearm.

_Damn._

“Steve,” Bucky said, and Steve wasn’t sure what the answer to that was because he was kissing Bucky again, kissing him and pulling at his cock, and it felt better than anything had in a real long time.

No matter the other people in his life, people he’d loved, people he’d cared for… this was _Bucky._ The first person he’d cared for. The first person he’d loved. The first person who’d looked at Steve and saw something—not the damaged shell, but the potential. The first person who’d looked, and truly _seen_ him.

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, holding him close as they jerked each other messily, exchanging sloppy kisses and traded, gasping breaths.

“Where do you want it?”

“What?” Steve’s voice caught and he forced himself to look.

“I’m s’posed to come on you.”

“Shit. Anywhere.” He shook his head. “Stomach.”

“Okay.” Bucky kissed him again, licking into his mouth. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Steve let his grip go lax as Bucky thrust into his hand, head thrown back, his expression wild and desperate.

He watched—couldn’t tear his eyes away—as Bucky came in long, hot spurts against Steve’s stomach and chest and throat.

“Fuck.” Bucky gasped and laughed at the same time. Then, “You gotta get me too.”

That wasn’t going to take much.

Steve started rubbing Bucky’s come over his chest, fingertips swirling in it, then Bucky tilted his chin again and Steve’s lips were being kissed, and kissed, and it hadn’t been like this before, and…

“On my chest, too.”

And _oh fuck._

Steve cried out, then again, and Bucky was saying something but Steve couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his own ears. He sagged back against the bed and threw his forearm over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck.”

Bucky landed on his back next to Steve with a soft _thud._

They laid like that together for long moments, pressed together at shoulder and hip and thigh.

When Steve opened his eyes Bucky was still absently swirling his fingers through Steve’s come.

“It’s gonna make me stronger, right?”

Steve barked a laugh. “That’s the idea.”

He felt more free and relaxed than he’d been in a long time. It was gonna be okay.

Steve reached for the cloth he’d stashed next to the bed and passed it to Bucky to wipe himself off first, while Steve took long pulls from a bottle of water. They swapped, and Steve decided he could live with sleeping in sweaty, oil-stained sheets for one night. Mostly because he didn’t have the energy to move.

“Lights out.”

He didn’t ask Bucky if he was staying, couldn’t quite handle the answer one way or the other. Still, he was surprised when Bucky curled up next to him and placed a gentle, tentative hand on Steve’s stomach.

Silently, Steve threaded their fingers together.

And fell asleep.

*

The next morning Bucky was gone. Steve was okay with that.

He stretched and yawned and stumbled through to the bathroom to shower off the evidence from the night before.

As the hot water pounded him from all sides, Steve tested the edges of his conscious, wondering if he should feel guilty about what he’d led Bucky into. For all Bucky’s teasing about Asgardian orgies, he’d never done anything like that before. They’d broken all sort of rules…but this wasn’t Asgardian society, and there wasn’t anyone waiting to judge them for what they’d done.

He shut the water off and dressed quickly in khakis and a T-shirt, towel drying his hair and combing it neatly.

Bucky was, to Steve’s great relief, in the family room. An almost empty mug of coffee was balanced on the arm of his chair.

“Want a refill?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded and offered Steve a shy smile. “Please.”

It wasn’t a chore.

Steve made himself a plate of eggs and toast, not bothering to double up since the evidence of Bucky’s own breakfast still lay on the counter. More eggs and toast. They were creatures of habit.

The sun came into the family room in the morning, giving the place a familiar warm glow. Steve gave Bucky his coffee then took the sofa, tucking his feet up to balance his plate on his knees.

“I have some questions,” Bucky said when Steve started to eat.

“Sure.”

“They might not all make sense.”

Steve looked up. “You know I won’t lie to you, Buck. I don’t actually think I can.”

Bucky seemed calm, quiet, but Steve knew better than anyone how good he was at masking his emotions. Bucky had gotten good at that.

“The, uh, the tea. What is it?”

“It’s tea.”

“Yeah, but it’s not some kind of funky tea, right? It doesn’t… make you feel things?”

“No.” That wasn’t a lie. “It’s just… it lowers your inhibitions. Like alcohol, without feeling drunk and the hangover.”

“So it doesn’t make you think something you wouldn’t already think.”

“No, Buck,” Steve said gently. “It’s just tea.”

He looked at Bucky, then, really looked. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

A lot of time had passed, water under the bridge, and after a few hundred years it was easy to forget. Steve liked that he’d forgotten. That Bucky had mostly forgotten too. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was just better at hiding, at suppressing it.

False memories. False emotions. Bucky had spent a lot of time with Sam Wilson working through those, figuring out the real from the invented. It had been good for him, at the time. Being able to categorize. Steve had…

Forgotten.

“It doesn’t make you hallucinate,” he said, wanting to elaborate. “I’ve always felt like it strips away those little concerns that you carry around with you all the time and just lets you concentrate on the moment. It’s like…” he grasped for a comparison. “Like a magnifying glass. All the rest of the words are still there, it’s just the thing you want to focus on is bigger. The rest of it all melts away.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. So what we did last night. That’s it, right, there’s not more to it?”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Steve finished his eggs and set the plate aside, warming his hands on the mug. He wasn’t cold, he just liked the burn on his palms.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fucking, Steve, I was tryin’ to be delicate.”

“Oh.” Steve huffed a laugh. “No, not for that. Fucking is different.”

“You fucked Thor, though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He fucked you?”

“Yeah. Bucky, why are you so interested in this?”

“I’m curious.”

Steve laughed. “Okay. Is there anything else you’re curious about?”

Bucky didn’t laugh with him. “I’m curious, Steve, about fucking you, and that’s freaking me out just a little. Because you’re my best fucking friend and I’ve known you longer than anyone else in the universe, and I don’t really know what that means. You’re my best friend. And I know some guys jerk it together or whatever, but it was…”

“More,” Steve offered.

“I dunno.” Bucky sounded frustrated. He pushed his fingers through his hair, setting it loose from the elastic that had been holding it back. “I’ve never done it before. I don’t know what normal is so how the fuck am I supposed to know what ‘more’ is?”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. It hadn’t done that in a while.

He set his mug aside and went to kneel at Bucky’s feet.

Slowly, so slowly, so Bucky had a chance to pull away if he wanted, Steve tilted his chin up and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, his jaw, then brushed his lips over Bucky’s. Bucky’s breath stuttered, then he tilted his head too and caught Steve’s lips in his own.

Bucky’s hands—one warm, one cool—caught Steve’s biceps as their lips caught and dragged slowly together, less frantic than the night before. No tongue, no pressure, just soft, easy kisses.

“This is more,” Steve murmured.

“I don’t…” Bucky made a frustrated noise. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. Either together, or I can give you the space you need to do it on your own. You don’t need to be alone, though.” Bucky pulled Steve all the way in between his thighs, wrapped his arms securely around Steve’s shoulders, and pressed Steve’s cheek to Bucky’s chest. “I’m right here.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admitted, mumbling the words into the top of Steve’s head. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m so gonna fuck this up.”

“Bucky. I won’t let us fuck this up. If it turns out it was one night of sex, then we go back to being friends like always, then that’s okay. I won’t let it ruin our friendship, I swear to God.”

“I don’t want to go back. I want to figure out what’s next.”

Steve smiled. “Me too.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: 
> 
> Bucky and Steve discuss how Natasha likely found a way to kill herself, and possibly left instructions for them both on how she did it. Her "suicide" is off-screen.
> 
> *
> 
> If you'd like to find out more about my other writing projects, please take a look at my website www.annamartin-fiction.com


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